


Layers of Paint

by Meiwks



Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: I love her, Short, artist morgan, glenn tries to clean our morgans art room, just a sad dad, she did tattoos and paintings, this is just mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:13:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27068443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meiwks/pseuds/Meiwks
Summary: It was the middle of a hot summer day in California and the entire house felt warm and sunny, glowing with the light of the sun through the windows. Well, the entire house except for one room. It’d been years since Glenn had entered this room- sober, at least. He had walked into it drunk many times. It was the place he’d go when he missed her. To think about her and cry. He never thought he’d get the guts to clear it out, though.Glenn decides to clean out Morgan's art room before Nick gets home from school. He doesn't get much done.
Relationships: Glenn Close & Nicolas Close, Glenn Close/Morgan Freeman (Dungeons and Daddies)
Kudos: 11





	Layers of Paint

**Author's Note:**

> This was for an english assignment where we were supposed to describe a place, and I decided I should post it! It's pretty short, but I like it enough to post.

It was the middle of a hot summer day in California and the entire house felt warm and sunny, glowing with the light of the sun through the windows. Well, the entire house except for one room. It’d been years since Glenn had entered this room- sober, at least. He had walked into it drunk many times. It was the place he’d go when he missed her. To think about her and cry. He never thought he’d get the guts to clear it out, though. It just stood, a looming door in a small, carpeted hallway, with a barrier of emotions between it and whoever tried. This room was off limits to guests, or really anybody. Because it wasn’t their room- it’s hers. It was hers. And he always thought it would be. But, it couldn’t stay like this forever. Not if he wanted to live a healthier life. A better life. If not for himself, then for his son. So, his hand- shaking subtly, turned the icy cold metal door knob, rustic and designed with small carvings just as old as the house itself. The door creaked open, the dark wood moving to reveal the dust covered room. Untouched, like a still moment in time.

Stepping off the soft carpet onto the hard wood floors, Glenn could hear it creak underneath him- reminiscent of the pacing sounds of Morgan, calling out to him from the other room. The entire room quickly gave off scents of acrylic paints, faint rubbing alcohol, and dust, stuffy and small like the rest of the house was. It hit like a wave, almost making him lightheaded at the chemicals.

The first thing to stand out to anyone when they walked in would be the canvas near the centre of the room. It was practically as tall as Glenn, with faded watercolours painted in soft, blended colours in the shapes of flowers, out;ining the main scene of a pond- a man, sitting on a rock beside it and holding the hand of a woman in the water, face left unfinished and blank. A face that’ll never be finished. The bittersweet sense of loss fell over him, urging him to leave. Despite that, his feet stayed planted in their place- as if lifting them would be too dangerous and disruptive.

Underneath the canvas sat a cup full of filthy paint water, brushes that were now most likely falling apart left in it, bristles soft and broken. There was also an open, messy container of water colours, clearly often being mixed on the lid- making the words on it illegible. On the desk beside the set up canvas there was another piece- this time acrylic, no doubt left so the layers on it would dry. Glenn remembered asking why she had such thick layers of paint along it- ones you could see sticking up even looking at the canvas from the side.

_“Texture, Glenn. Having a painting with no texture is like having a song with only four chords. It can be good, but if you just add a little more it changes the entire thing. Besides, life isn’t 2d- so why should my paintings be?”_

The flowers, which came up a lot in her works, remained beautiful and still- exactly as they were when she left it. _Glenn wasn’t sure what he was expecting- it’s not like they could wilt._

The desk was completely cluttered with art supplies, like a dragon's hoard of treasures. It was messy- but in a way where everything ended up in the same place. Like, if you memorized the mess you would have no problem finding things the next time. There was also a photo framed on the desk of a woman, man and child- all three with matching red streaks in their hair. A tradition Glenn and Nick had kept up, even after she left. The dust on the image was thick, obscuring the majority of it- so Glenn reached and wiped it away to see it closer. The woman, carrying a lopsided smirk on her face and looking at the other two like they were complete weirdos, had a hand on her hip- tattooed arms visible with her tank top, of course. The boys, meanwhile, were back to back- pretending to play guitars as they grinned at the camera. It was placed where it could be seen from the majority of the small room.

Hanging up along the walls were plenty of other paintings and pieces of art- including one very different than the rest. It had messy, childlike scribbles and blobs in paint- before being carefully lined over with a thin black pen to create a fantastical group of monsters, plants and faces. A collaboration piece.

Aside from the art on the soft yellow walls- a colour usually so bright and happy now paled through time and lighting, there was also a large window with blinds that casted light into the room as if the sun was begging to peek through. The light did not liven it up however- instead, it made the dancing particles of dust in the air all the more clear. Breathing in here felt disgusting- but opening the window felt out of place. It felt too fitting, the still and gloomy atmosphere surrounding the room. Even the cold floor could be felt through Glenns thin socks.

There wasn’t much to hear in the room after Glenn went still from pacing through it- it was the kind of silence that surrounded you like a forcefield. The kind that made you think that nothing could ever break it. Like, the moment that door closed behind Glenn, he was no longer in his house- he was departed into some other torturous room of memories that could only truly be revisited through dreams.

Anybody walking into this place could feel the energy here- or rather lack thereof. It screamed so heavily that there used to be life here. That it was made with such care and passion and love. Even the plastic drawers, stacked tall full of glitter, brushes, supplies and projects that went nowhere, seemed happily disorganized. There was even a nearly completely unused brick of air dry clay in the bottom drawer- only a small bit ripped off that could be easily connected to a tiny, hardened blob of an attempt that was still on the shelf. _Her shelf of failed attempts that she never quite had the heart to throw away._

Neither did Glenn, really. He couldn’t even find the heart to clean any of it up anymore. One failed attempt from many.

No, instead of doing anything, he sank down to the floor and put a hand on the wedding ring that he still wore on his finger, head bumping against the wall, staying there for hours until he heard the distant sounds of a door opening coming to break the silence.

_“Dad, I’m home!”_


End file.
